


you can't win if you don't play

by taywen



Category: Uprooted - Naomi Novik
Genre: Banter, Bets & Wagers, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-01-20 02:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12423321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taywen/pseuds/taywen
Summary: Solya goes back to Kralia and settles a perhaps ill-advised bet.Sarkan eyed Solya suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”“Gidna’s climate doesn’t agree with me.”“So, Alosha’s patience for your antics ran out.”





	you can't win if you don't play

Solya was surprised - pleasantly so - when he returned to Kralia to find Sarkan absent. He could have gone without seeing the Dragon for far longer, but there was something Solya intended to settle with him, and he generally despised waiting on others. Ragostok was the only Named witch or wizard that Solya could easily find, but he was no help at all.

“He mentioned tax collection, I believe,” Ragostok said disinterestedly, his focus clearly on the trinket before him.

Solya hummed. Collecting his own taxes. How provincial. “And I suppose Agnieszka accompanied him, as former apprentices tend to do with their recent masters?”

Ragostok scoffed. “The village girl? I haven’t seen her in Kralia since— well.”

Yes, well. Solya forged on; there was no use dwelling on the past. “She remained in the Valley?”

“In the Wood, according to Sarkan.”

Solya felt his eyes widen involuntarily.

“He’s more insufferable than you are,” Ragostok informed him in tones of deep disgust.

Solya stifled his instinctive indignation at being found lesser in any respect than the Dragon and said, easily, “You’ll find no argument from me.”

Ragostok looked up from whatever trinket he was working on, his eyes narrowing. “Why are you back? I bet the Willow you wouldn’t dare show your face in Kralia for at least a year after Marek—”

“Thank you for the news, Ragostok,” Solya said silkily, and left directly.

* * *

“Oh, you’ve returned,” Solya said a few weeks later. “How fortuitous.”

Sarkan eyed him suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

“Gidna’s climate doesn’t agree with me.”

“So, Alosha’s patience for your antics ran out.”

Solya put on a mild smile. “As I said. Alosha’s moods are as tempestuous as—”

“A moment,” Sarkan interrupted rudely. Clearly, a century and more of isolation in his tower had not improved his social graces. “Let me write this down.”

Solya managed not to flinch; in his lower moments, he wondered if his status as the (second) most powerful wizard in Polnya wasn’t due to Alosha’s disinterest in shows of strength.

“That won’t be necessary. I don’t know that the line is quite complete yet. It requires further thought before I pen the next verse of my ode to our dear Sword.”

Sarkan scoffed. “And here I thought you’d set your sights on Kasia.”

“The heart is a fickle master,” Solya said, lightly.

Sarkan looked almost regretful for a moment, which was simply intolerable.

“But where have you heard this outdated bit of gossip?” Solya looked at him all attentive, not that he thought Sarkan was fooled for a second; no matter, this ought to put them onto the topic that Solya was truly interested in. “Not from Kasia herself, surely? I suppose she might look upon you with more fondness than I anticipated,” Solya mused.

Sarkan shot him an irritated look. “Kasia mentioned your ridiculous proposal in her latest letter to Agnieszka.”

“Agnieszka! What a lovely woman.” Solya kept his eyes on Sarkan’s face. “I wondered what had kept you from your self-proclaimed duty here in Kralia. Tax collection does not usually take quite so long.”

“Because you have such a wealth of experience in that sphere,” Sarkan said drily.

Solya hummed, undeterred by Sarkan’s attempt to derail the conversation. So long as the Dragon did not storm off in a temper, he was confident of steering their discussion back to where he wanted it.

“Well, I wanted to inherit the barony from my father, but I believe King What’s-his-name thought I’d become some kind of tyrant.”

“How unreasonable. I can’t begin to imagine how King Sigismund reached that conclusion.”

“I ask myself that question every day,” Solya agreed sorrowfully. “But enough about my family. Can we expect terrifying pyromaniac infants toddling around the Wood any time soon? Perhaps riding on the back of one of those quaintly-named walkers?”

A lesser man might have laughed at the gamut of emotions that Sarkan’s face went through at the words, but Solya bit the inside of his cheek and maintained his expression of polite interest.

“My relationship with Agnieszka is none of your business,” Sarkan informed him coldly, having decided to react with haughty outrage.

A definitive position, but not particularly illuminating. Solya pressed his luck: “So you don’t love her?”

Sarkan sent him a furious look.

“So you _do_ —?”

Sarkan was probably mere seconds away from lashing out with fire. Perhaps Solya had pushed a tad hard.

“I’ve offended you with my hasty assumptions: I apologize, Sarkan. Agnieszka is a charming woman, and I’d thought that perhaps someone had finally managed to work their way into your affections.” Solya shrugged gracefully; in the same motion, he casually checked for the nearest egress. “It’s my mistake. Even my eyes are not infallible, I suppose.”

“You’re not wrong,” Sarkan said stiffly.

“What?” Solya demanded, dropping all pretenses. “Agnieszka and— _you_ —? Unbelievable.”

Sarkan drew himself up, his expression thunderous. “If you didn’t want to know then _why_ —”

“A bet, obviously,” Solya snapped; he was justified his temper, he’d had a lot riding on this wager. “Alosha will be unbearable. More unbearable than usual, that is. How does she always _know_.”

He could hear her now: _there’s always a price to pay_ , she’d tell him. How utterly intolerable. She hadn't even seen Sarkan and Agnieszka together, which was really the most insulting part of all this: that Solya, who prided himself on his perception and insight, had somehow managed to miss— _this_.

The sudden burst of heat was all the warning of Sarkan’s roused ire that Solya received.

* * *

“Why does it smell like smoke?” Ragostok sounded annoyed more than alarmed; he didn't bother looking up from his work.

Solya casually tucked the singed ends of hair over his shoulder; he’d been meaning to cut it, in any case. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“So, are they in love?”

How did— Alosha, of course. The Sword could be devious when she put her mind to the task. Solya narrowed his eyes at Ragostok, tempted to make something of it. But the satisfaction of lashing out at Ragostok would surely be outweighed by the humiliation of Alosha putting him in his place in return.

He conjured a chair to throw himself into instead, ignoring Ragostok’s pointed glare at the upraised boots on his worktable. “Apparently.”

Ragostok groaned. “How does Alosha always _know_?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Solya muttered darkly.

“The girl’s so plain,” Ragostok continued; he sounded personally offended. Aesthetics were his foremost concern in all things, which Solya generally approved of.

But not in this instance. He frowned. “I disagree.” Agnieszka was a remarkable woman, and she could do far better than _Sarkan_. Kasia, perhaps. She wasn’t magical, but Solya had a feeling the changes from being bound to a heart-tree would make up much of the difference—

“You’re in love with Marek, you haven’t got a leg to stand on.”

Solya sucked in a breath, his hands balling into fists. The lights flickered and a sudden gust of wind blew through the room, an unconscionable and telling loss of control.

“Sorry,” Ragostok said: he did look a little contrite. “He was handsome, I suppose.”

Solya breathed out slowly; the air around them stilled. “High words of praise from the Splendid,” he drawled in a decent approximation of normal.

“If it’s any consolation, Alosha was wrong about you,” Ragostok added. “She bet you were just in it for the glory.”

“Good.” The satisfaction in his voice was perhaps too vicious, but Solya was too out of sorts to regulate it properly. “A moment: who won that bet?”

Ragostok tilted his head, considering. “It was— Oh. Sarkan.”

Solya cursed loudly.


End file.
